Courting a Swan
by Tadpole24
Summary: He is relentless, but when she stops to think about it, that's the whole appeal in what he's saying. She knows he won't give up, knows he won't leave her. Captain Swan finding time together in the midst of a war.


_**Just a little ficlet that I might turn into a series of dates in coming weeks. Let me know if that's something you might want to read :)**_

…

Courting a Swan

…

"Hook!" she calls from the docks, "What the _hell_ do you think you're playing at?"

He rolls his eyes, smiling as he pokes his head over the side of his ship, "And here I thought we'd gone and ditched the moniker, love."

Her eyes widen in frustration, "What did I tell you about calling me 'love'?"

He makes a show of trying to remember, "Something about my other hand, I believe." Then he shrugs, "You were cursed. I forgive you." It only serves to annoy her more.

She shakes her head at him, climbing aboard, her heeled boots clicking on the wooden decks with every angry step, "You know what, Henry isn't around so I'll call you whatever the hell I want." Her hand connects with his chest, a piece of parchment clutched in her fingertips, "What is this?"

His eyes drop to her hand, smiling wider despite himself, "You know precisely what it is, Emma."

Her eyes meet his and a sobering moment washes over them, one in which Emma realises that he's not running away from her confrontation, one in which she sees that maybe not every person is out to leave her. She's still mad at him though, because how could he want this right now? How could he wish to pull her focus from their current battle? "You want to take me on a date?"

He's completely unfazed by her defensive nature as he grasps her hand, pulling the paper up to reading level, "I believe the term I used is 'courting'. Aye, I wish to court you, Emma Swan."

He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, like taking her out is the only logical conclusion to his life. And it strikes her, that maybe, to him, it is. Maybe he can see a future between them, maybe he can see a time when it will be okay for her to let her guard down.

But right now, she's just so unsure.

"There is a war raging around us every day. We can't just go on a _date_." She says it like she has a particular aversion to the word, as though it is clearly ludicrous in this time to even discuss something so normal.

His eyebrows raise in that way they do when he doesn't necessarily agree with something, his shoulders shrugging and head tilting to the side, "You took the time out of your day to reprimand me for merely suggesting we spend some time together. Could we not simply move the yelling to a location where we have a meal? Perhaps dinner."

He is relentless, but when she stops to think about it, that's the whole appeal in what he's saying. She knows he won't give up, knows he won't leave her. He is the only person in her life who has been consistent in finding her and always coming back for her. He makes her come first, whether it's going to help or harm him, he's always got her needs in mind.

It's such a foreign concept to her.

She realises he's still waiting for an answer and she can feel her resolution slipping with each passing second at the thought that he's doing it again - he's waiting for her to catch up, putting her first.

"We can't." Her voice lacks any real conviction and she knows it.

He steps in just a fraction closer, daring her to meet him, "Why not?" His words hit her with his scent, slightly spiced and hinted with salt and leather, a combination of the sea and freedom. He smells like change and, god, she wonders if he tastes that way too.

As though hearing her thoughts, he takes her silence as a chance, leaning in and capturing her lips in the barest hint of a kiss. She gasps slightly, then clamps her mouth shut against his, her walls flying sky-high in her hesitation. That is, until he goes to pull away and she suddenly realises that she's not finished kissing him. Not even a little bit.

Her hand tentatively holds the back of his neck, the piece of parchment containing his request for a date falling from her grip. He responds immediately to her openness, his arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her off balance and straight into his chest.

She moans into his mouth when he backs her up against the side of the ship, her legs stepping apart at his gentle insistence as his knee comes between them, grinding at the apex of her thighs. The hand on her hip rises up a few inches, her shirt bunching up and his fingers grazing her skin. It sends electric shocks through her body and she finally sees what he sees. That they can have a moment together and the world not come crashing down around them.

Before they can get carried away (and she knows how easy it would be to just let go), she breaks away just enough that they can still rest their foreheads against each other's and hold onto the moment. There's no talk of one-time things, no comments on what their shared moment has revealed to either of them, because they already know.

This is a kiss born in the desire between a pirate and a princess. Perhaps something more, but certainly nothing less.

Emma lowers her hand from his neck, struggling to remove herself from his embrace, breathing in his intoxicating scent once more. "So, dinner," she agrees.

He smiles, his lips still ghosting against hers, "And a drink."

She rolls her eyes at him, but he loves a challenge.


End file.
